


Dark, darker, darkness.

by LadySpearWife



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Dark Laughs, Darkening of Valinor, Death, Drama in Nargothrond, First Age, Gen, Heavy Angst, Kinslaying, Menegroth, Minor Character Death, Nargothrond, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Post-Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Sad, Second Age, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, The Sindar, Tragedy, laughs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:42:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySpearWife/pseuds/LadySpearWife
Summary: Someone is laughing, but the sound is terrible.Or, five perspectives in the darkest side of laughs.





	Dark, darker, darkness.

I.

They now say Curufinwë Fëanáro only laughed to make fun of someone who was less powerful than him, a quick and harsh reminder of his own sharp superiority. They now say he never took anything seriously, only the perjuries whispered by Melkor.

It’s a lie, of course, but most of the things about him are.

The lonely dark laugh that all those who met him in person can recall was the terrible, choked sound Fëanáro spat when his eyes found Finwë’s dead corpse laying on Formenos’ floor. Despair and rage and a broken heart living in the horrific guffaw.

II.

There was bloodshed in his halls, a slaughter at every corner and memories dripping from the walls. The brave sindar’s corpses were lying broken everywhere, and Dior was running to safety.

_King, king, king!_

They were chasing him, chasing him! The Sons of Fëanor, soaked with blood and sins, dreadful smiles on their fair faces.

He needed to find his family and a room that was safe, but they were faster: trained warriors and hunters with centuries of experience.

Celegorm found him first, the sword in his hand shining in the night’s light.

Dior laughed ripping his skin apart.

III.

Artaesto laughed when news of the battle, already being called Nirnaeth Arnoendiad, reached him in Nargothrond’s safety. Laughed among his own lords and ladies without concerns about how he’d look to them.

Or so say his surviving servants while recalling the grim night when they discovered about the bitter destiny of so many good people.

Slowly, silently, the King was left alone, highborn and workers hurrying to discover about their beloveds’ destinies and eager to abandon their leader to his misery, unable to do anything but hear his guffaws echoing through the halls.

Artaesto laughed until he was sobbing.

IV.

Makalaurë was walking in the shores, thick sand in his clothes and salt in his skin. There were sea and rocks and tears for him, a distant call from a beautiful city that was no more, or, at least, not in his memories.

Then, the swans came; almost soft clouds in the too blue sky. Beautiful and white and glorious as nothing else could be, flying swiftly above his head and completely free, mocking him and calling him.

He laughed until his throat was sore and almost bleeding, laughed until his body was motionless on the ground.

Elwing won.

V.

Elros laughed when he and his brother received the dreary choice, an ultimatum burdening their shoulders until it was impossible to breathe and to live the calm days before the storm without the thick shadow around them.

He would not bow, never desired to be bent and molded by greater choices. His destiny was his and his alone, and no song could change it.

So, Elros laughed and laughed until everyone was staring him in worry and despair until his body was shaking and breaking for the sudden disgust and fear.

The price paid for freedom was death, so.


End file.
